


To Forget

by Umeko



Series: Dysfunctional [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/M, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Unrequited Love, really bad coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 17:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14169516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: This is an AU where life in Gondolin isn’t all rosy and certain members of House of Fingolfin have very questionable coping mechanisms.





	To Forget

**Author's Note:**

> This may be read as a continuation of the fic ‘Met by Moonlight’. Maeglin needs better role models when it comes to relationships.

_“Please stop… he’s watching…”_

_“Then let him,” Ada grunted as he roughly shoved Nana back down onto the anvil and thrust into her. Nana was crying softly over the slap of skin on skin, her dark hair falling like a veil to hide her shame. Her breasts were exposed, squashed against the black of the anvil, marred by soot._

_The elfling he was marvelled at the contrast between his father’s tanned hips against the snowy globes of his mother’s buttocks. Almost as white the skirts hiked up about her waist as they coupled. He listened to the soft gasps, grunts, and moans, until with one final thrust of Eol’s hips, it was over._

* * *

 

Maeglin stirred, careful not to disturb his bed-mates. He lifted Glorfindel’s arm off his hip and disentangled Ethcelion’s hand from his hair. He felt suddenly heartsick. It had been a while since he dreamed of Nan Elmoth. A dull ache in ass reminded him of the activities he had been partaking in with his fellow lords before bed. Both were impressively well-endowed. The wine of the night before sat heavily in his belly. He wriggled out from under the bedclothes and made for the basin. As quietly as he could, he spewed the contents of his stomach until his throat ached.

_Everything was wrong._

 He carefully picked up his clothes from the tangle of discarded garments on the floor of Glorfindel’s room and dressed. Dawn was starting to paint the eastern sky over the city walls as he slipped out from the chamber like a silent shadow.

* * *

 

The first time he walked in on his parents coupling, he was too young to know what it all meant. Nana would try to pretend all was well but he soon saw through the smiles and empty words. Eol did not care whether his son was present when he took his wife. The elfling soon learnt to make himself scarce whenever his father made sexual demands of his mother. Some nights, Nana would go out into the woods for herbs that grew in secret glades to brew a special tea. The tea would make her ill for a few days, during which his Ada would fume.

“So much like your dear Nana…” Eol had come to him one night reeking of dwarf-beer after Nana had taken the tea. He did not protest when his father took his tiny hand and ordered him to fondle his cock. It was not long before he was on his knees sucking his own father off while his mother suffered the effects of her tea in the next room. This was not long after Eol first started teaching him his craft in the forge. In his naivety, he had thought that part of his training.

“This is wrong,” Nana shook her head when she had walked in on them in the forge, Eol with his leggings undone and their son on his knees with his spendings dripping down his chin.

“You have no right to judge me, you harlot!” Eol had struck her across the face, knocking her to the floor. Then he had seized Maeglin by the arm and thrust him from the forge, locking the door behind his son. Maeglin could still remember his helpless pleas over the curses, cries, and blows from within.  Eol would allow his son back in a few hours later to help his battered mother to her bed. He could not help noticing the white of her ripped dress was stained dark with blood running down her thighs.

* * *

 

They were his property to use as he wished. Eol would rape Nana, then fuck his throat with her juices still wet on his cock. When he realised that, Maeglin knew he had to take his Nana and leave Nan Elmoth before Eol hurt her again. His Nana had a life before Eol. She had spoken to him of it in unguarded moments - a white city where her brother was king, a court full of mighty lords. Surely they would protect them from Eol’s fury. Nana also spoke of a dear cousin, a hunter who stalked the woods across the sea in the happier days of her youth.

He should not have trusted the White City as a haven painted by his mother. There was no such thing outside tales told to young elflings. That was what he thought when his own uncle requested he paid special tribute to him.

* * *

 

“Watch it,” Rog grunted a warning as teeth scrapped his skin. Maeglin stopped what he was doing and ran his tongue around the blacksmith-lord’s cock by way of apology. A few more bobs of his head and he tasted the salt of Rog’s release. He swallowed it all. Eol had taught him well. Unlike Eol’s indifference, Rog would remain to help him back onto his feet and offer him a drink from the water jug before they return to overseeing the apprentice-smiths.

Rog was part Avari himself and did not look down upon Maeglin’s Avari blood. He would like to allow Rog to claim him over the anvil but he had an appointment with his dear uncle later. An appointment he knew would end up in his uncle’s bed. Allowing Rog to have his way now would leave him too sore. Maeglin could laugh at irony of it. _The King’s Heir? More like the King’s Whore - just like his harlot mother._

* * *

 

He had not been prepared when he lost his virginity to his hypocrite of an uncle, even though he had paid tribute to him with his hands and lips for many nights before that. He recalled being too scared to cry out from the pain. It was rape but who would believe that of their noble king? Or that he had been fucking his own sister before she was enslaved in Nan Elmoth?

His dear Nana was no pure maiden herself. From gossip and unguarded conservations, Maeglin learned the princess Aredhel had been exceptionally free with her favours in Gondolin and perhaps even earlier. Many a lord had been bestowed with her favours and perhaps they saw the likeness in her son when they sent him invitations to their private chambers. There was gossip that the relationship she had with her cousin Celegorm went far beyond simple kinship.

The Noldor believed all Avari to be easy when it came to sex and it was not long before Maeglin’s exotic Avari heritage and likeness to his beautiful mother drew the carnal attentions of his fellow lords. Many a time he accepted their attentions and even shared their beds. It had started as a way to secretly betray his uncle but it changed when he saw her for the first time.

* * *

 

“That’s the Princess Idril, the King’s only daughter. She’s your cousin, don’t you know?” Lord Salgant replied as he watched her cross the garden below. Her hair was the colour of spun gold. Her laughter musical as she danced barefoot on the grass.

“I think I might be in love,” Maeglin murmured softly as his nimble fingers worked on Salgant’s shaft, hidden by the fall of his cloak. 

“Don’t even think about it. Avari ways might allow it but the Noldor would never wed kin that close. Ah, don’t you dare stop!” Salgant pleaded when Maeglin’s fingers ceased their movement. With a wicked grin, Maeglin resumed his activity.

* * *

 

He dreamed of her both day and night. He knew he was too sullied to ever be worthy of her perfection. She was the sun, the light of his days. He watched her in secret. Uncle Turgon would introduce them formally at a feast some months after he was given his own House to lord over. She did not like him much. His watchfulness made her uneasy. He sent her small pieces of jewellery crafted by his own hands but she returned them all.

His fantasies turned dark when she rejected his affections. Perhaps she looked down on his Avari blood. Perhaps Idril was not perfect. Perhaps like her aunt she had already made the rounds of the lords’ beds. He would claim her the same way his father claimed his mother, dominating her body. He would rip her garments off and beat her into submission. He would bite her breasts and mark her as his. He would fuck her in the cunt and ass until she dripped with his seed. He would make her drink his seed as he fucked her pretty throat. The dark fantasies scared him.

He sought to drown his nightly desire for his fair cousin by coupling with his fellow lords, especially those with fair hair. He had been ever so careful with his assignations. It would never do for his erstwhile lovers to learn about each other. There was always that Noldor respectability the lords had to maintain. In public he acted aloof and distant, friend to none. Black garments and the stealth he had learned in his childhood allowed him to move unnoticed in the shadows. He would play the courtesan as his harlot mother had.  He soon learned the tastes of his fellow lords.   

Lord Rog was game for a quick coupling in the forge late at night. He liked it rough, which Maeglin would tolerate despite the bruises. He was always surprisingly gentle with Maeglin after they were done. On learning Maeglin had an aversion for being fucked over the anvil, he switched to bending him over the worktable instead. The younger elf was thankful he did not need to share the awkwardness of having walked in on his mother being fucked over the anvil.

Lord Salgant often sought solace from his nagging wife and turbulent home life with male and female alike. Often he just wanted to chat while snuggled up against a warm body in a rented room he kept overlooking the Market Square. A hand-job would not go amiss.

Lord Eglamoth might have been Aredhel’s lover at some point. He had often remarked on the resemblance to his mother. While unattended in his lover’s rooms, Maeglin had uncovered a nude sketch of his Nana sprawled over the same cushions he had posed on for the aspiring artist. Egalmoth found the Avari tattoos Maeglin wore on his forearm exotic and would often kiss them during their passionate lovemaking.

Lords Glorfindel and Etchelion were a known couple and cared little that their relationship was known to half the court. Maeglin felt it an achievement he was invited to form a third to their arrangement. They were known for their adventurous streak in the bedroom and he had learned much from them in the ways of carnal delights. Glorfindel’s hair was the closest in shade to the untouchable Idril’s. Maeglin loved to stroke it after their lovemaking and pretend it was Idril beside him.

Lord Duilin preferred females, but he had relented to use Maeglin’s mouth to avail his lust one night in after a drinking session. Clearly he found the experience to his liking. Maeglin was roundly annoyed by his demands to repeat the experience and offended when offered gold in exchange. “Your mother was a whore too and would part her legs for nothing,” Duilin had challenged him outside the city forge and Rog had beaten Duilin up for it. Yet Maeglin had eventually relented and acted the whore for Duilin. Perhaps he liked the business-like transaction of it. A quick rutting in a dark alley. No awkward conversations.

Lord Galdor was of a similar inclination as Duilin. The lord took a dislike to him after he was named his uncle’s heir, perhaps on account of his Avari blood, not that it stopped him from rutting against Maeglin in a dark alcove after too many drinks at the banquet that followed. Lord Penlod was probably one of the rare true prudes in royal court, spending his days buried in scrolls or deep in payer while his saucy wife flirted with every other guard and page in the house. There were rumours that his piety was found after an ill-advised fling with a certain dark-haired princess many yeni back.

* * *

 

“Maeglin, this is not the way to cope…”

“Cope with what?” _Watching my father rape my harlot mother? Being sexually abused by my father. Being bedded by my kingly uncle? Knowing my mother was whore to half the court? Lusting for Cousin Idril?_

“You know what I am referring to …”

Coldness washed through his body. He stared at the golden canopy overhead and shifted against the cool silken sheets. It was one of the rare nights he had Glorfindel’s full attention in bed. Etchelion had sent his apologies. An urgent matter had cropped up at home, so he claimed in his note.

Maeglin feigned disinterest and lifted himself up on an elbow. He had learned to wear a mask in Gondolin to hide his true feelings. Salgant need not know how his domestic whining in bed bored Maeglin. King Turgon need not know how distasteful his nephew found being bedded by him. Valar forbid Duilin ever learn Maeglin actually enjoyed being used by him.

Glorfindel was nude like him, his body magnificent by the lamp light. The light danced on his golden tresses as he straddled the younger lord, pinning him to the mattress.

“Your feelings for Idril, that’s what,” Glorfindel continued. “Anyone with eyes to see can see it.”

“I will be more careful,” Maeglin murmured. His fantasies about Idril had returned with a dark vengeance when he saw her and that newcomer Tuor together. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the ache inside from his too-rough coupling with Rog just that afternoon. He was still bruised from an exchange with Duilin in the baths. Thankfully his uncle had left him alone for a while now, distracted no doubt by the growing love between his daughter and the Man.

“Not only that…” Glorfindel traced a bruise on his hip. “Your visits to certain lords… Egalmoth got careless when he’s had too much wine with us last week. Etchelion saw you in the baths with Duilin… He said you were almost challenging him to take you… why?”

“Can you make it stop hurting? Make me forget?” Maeglin whined as he covered his eyes with his forearm. “Just fuck me and make me forget.”

_“Can you make me forget?”_

Those words had come back to haunt him. Glorfindel sighed.

* * *

 

“I jest not! The princess, she is drunk out of her mind… On the table in the guardroom, with her legs up, clothes off, and demanding…” Penlod’s words trailed off as Glorfindel sped on.

“Just fuck me already! I command it!” Aredhel’s imperious voice echoed through the guardhouse. The usual racket of crude jokes and drunken singing after a festival was absent. Glorfindel tore off his cloak and threw it over Lady Aredhel to save whatever was left off her modesty. He wrestled her to her feet and glared at the other lords who remained in the room.

Lord Duilin was red-faced and guiltily re-fastening his breeches. Lord Galdor was busy swearing the dozen or so guards to silence on the pain of death. His tunic was noticeably rumpled. Lord Rog was gaping like a stunned carp and Glorfindel wondered if that was Salgant sneaking out the back door.

“She’s drunk out of her mind for shame! Now help me get her home…” Glorfindel barked. He tried to ignore the heavy reek of sex in the air. Penlod caught up with him and went to assist him with the still-struggling lady.

“Fuck me, make me forget… please…” Aredhel pleaded. The desperate need in her eyes and voice cut Glorfindel to his very core. “I want to forget him…”

Somehow between them, they managed to get her back to her rooms in the palace, suitably cleaned up, and put to bed with a soothing draught. No one dared speak of what had happened that night in the guardroom. It was a dark secret to be locked away and the key cast into the deepest pit.

In the end he had failed her. They all had failed her. Aredhel had conducted various ill-advised liaisons under her brother’s nose during her time in the city. Then Turgon relented and allowed her to leave the city to visit their elder brother, not knowing she intended to visit her cousin Celegorm. Somehow, she had eluded their watch and become ensnared by that accursed Dark Elf.

* * *

 

“Can you make me forget?” her son now whined plaintively. In his features and colouring, he favoured his mother. He was very young and slim-built. He could have passed for his mother if it were not for his flat chest and obvious maleness pressing against Glorfindel’s thigh.

“I do not know… my prince, but we can try…” Glorfindel slid downwards. Maeglin cried out as warm lips engulfed his length and his more experienced lover pleasured him with his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Maeglin’s coping mechanism is seriously messed-up. If he doesn’t watch it, his reputation as King’s Heir would be in ruins. Not that it matters much after he gets caught by orcs and betrays Gondolin. Originally thought of going into multiple chapters for each of the lords' treatment and view of Maeglin but that would detract from the focus on his anguish over his past, current situation and Idril.


End file.
